


Wrong Kind of Right

by nebulein



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Broken Boys, Dark, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-19
Updated: 2007-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-03 08:22:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4093840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebulein/pseuds/nebulein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's sick and twisted and about three shades of too fucked up, giving the pain inside him just enough edge to put everything clear and sharp into focus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong Kind of Right

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: don't own nothing, I'm just playing, please don't sue.
> 
> It's not what I intended to write, but krazykipper asked for comment porn and this is what I came up with and I figured it's probably not what you'd count as cheer up!porn, so I didn't post there. This is dark, gritty, broken sex. Enjoy.

Apollo takes a moment, breathes, concentrates on the oxygen filling his lungs. The air is muggy and he forces himself to take slower, deeper breaths. When his lungs stop burning he nods slightly, lets his head fall back and closes his eyes.

Helo's fingertips wander over his body, exploring, stopping to feel Apollo's heart beating in his chest, a rapid tattoo against fingertips; roam over Apollo's stomach until they fall down to his hips, firm grip steadying him as Helo drives out and back in again. His movements are slow, lazy, intended to drive Apollo wild long before the end of this.

It's neither gentle nor the frantic urgency that usually colors their meetings. For the first time in months, they have time to take things slow, let it build up in them, fueling the hunger by feeding it breadcrumbs, too little of what they crave to be satisfied. It's sick and twisted and about three shades of too fucked up, giving the pain inside him just enough edge to put everything clear and sharp into focus.

Apollo snarls, digging his heels into the small of Helo's back, but the feel of sharp hipbones between his legs, a cock up his arse does nothing to erase the memory of blond hair and soft curves, her taste lingering on his lips, promises whispered in a huff of warm breath still in his ear.

Helo speeds up and Apollo sighs in relief, hides his face in the pillow and drifts away on the waves of push and pull until he gets caught in the maelstrom of a hand on his cock, drowns in an angry sea of need and longing until the iron band around his chest becomes too tight to breathe.

The carefully contained vacuum inside him breaks and his whole body aches as he allows himself to feel something at all, paints his stomach with bitter white drops that are everything but relief. Helo grunts, hips stuttering as he empties himself into the condom and Apollo bites his lip, looks away, fingers clenching in the dirty, rough sheets beneath him.

Maybe some day he'll break enough to feel whole again.


End file.
